


but i've been throwin' down gauntlets, i’m dauntless

by Tamari, Tsume_Yuki



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The Rigel Black Chronicles - Fandom
Genre: Attempted Seduction, Co-Written, F/M, Female Harry Potter, Inspired by The Rigel Black Chronicles, Post FF Ch13, Post Ruse Reveal, catching feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:28:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28266882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tamari/pseuds/Tamari, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tsume_Yuki/pseuds/Tsume_Yuki
Summary: “I am going to seduce Harriet Potter away from Black,” Caelum declared to his empty room.[In which Caelum isn't willing to give up his potions partner, even if it means having to seduce the halfblood away until Black is married off to some other bint][He didn't plan on actually catching feelings though]
Relationships: Harry Potter | RIgel Black/Caelum Lestrange
Comments: 44
Kudos: 344





	1. Chapter 1

It started as a shallow idea, lingering in the back of his mind and Caelum barely paid it any attention. Why would he when he had other far more important things on his mind? Looking back upon it, he wouldn’t even be able to pinpoint the exact time the concept had been forged, only acknowledge that it had been there, steadily growing, consuming the corners of his mind with a daunting hunger to its form. Perhaps it had been the year he had begun his apprenticeship under Master Whitaker as that bastard pretending to be Black ran roughshod through the Triwizard Tournament.

They’d never caught the fucker, still hadn’t.

But it had led to Arcturus Black attending the Ministry’s Gala in order to showcase himself as the actual Heir Black. It had led to Caelum meeting the little weasel and coming to the startling realisation that the pretender may have been a bastard, but at least he was a bastard that could back up his words. Arcturus Black was just an idiot in comparison and so clearly in love with a mudblood that it was painful. The whole event Caelum had spent the time gritting his teeth. He didn’t even try for a smile; it’d been a hopeless idea from the start, not that his mother would have ever expected him to smile for Sirius Black’s child, cousin or not.

Yet, the event had made some things abundantly clear.

Arcturus Black was a coward who had hidden behind the name of his very much female cousin (not even his fucking cousin though, was she?) in order to pursue his lacklustre dream. Even worse, Potter had been forced to make something of herself from a back-alley apartment that would no doubt be as unkept as one could expect when neighbouring with hags and vampires. No formal education behind her other than a series of hebetudinous correspondence courses that he doubted would challenge a seven-year-old, nevermind one of the brightest minds to ever stumble into the potions community. Yes, that mind was filled with wild, half-blood ideas, but even Caelum was capable of admitting when there was a need for something radical in order to ensure advancement within the field.

Regardless, throughout the duration of their association, Caelum had been unable to comprehend exactly why Harriet Potter was engaged to Heir Black. To begin with, it had been the very thought of a halfblood marrying the next Lord Black; it hadn’t made a lick of sense and his mother had raged for hours upon learning the news of what would become of her former house. Then, Lord Riddle’s marriage bill had passed in the wake of the Triwizard Tournament as the whole world had been forced to sit up and realise that two thirds of the most powerful wizards in their lifetime (Dumbledore and the pretender) were extraordinarily powerful despite being halfbloods. The only thing that could have possibly certified it further was if Lord Riddle were a halfblood as well. It was the one scrap of proof that purebloods were powerful that the majority were still clinging to.

One only needed to recall the way in which the halfblood imposter had torn through the wards and successfully escaped, had evaded being hunted by both Lord Riddle and Albus Dumbledore. That had been enough to push a handful of families over the final hurdle and accept that halfbloods should perhaps be welcomed back into society. It had been another thing his mother had spent days raging about.

Back to the point, the idea of Potter marrying Black wasn’t so far out of comprehension for most. Worse; Caelum had come to spend some time with Potter through a series of events that were in no way constructed by him (unless it was for research purposes; he didn’t care about her blood status when pumping her for information and ideas. This is the girl who was now Master Snape’s only apprentice) and found her to not be the residue that remains at the bottom of the barrel of acceptability. In fact, she could hold a better conversation than any of their peers. No one else understood the lure of the cauldron like she did.

The very thought of Potter having to spend the rest of her life toeing the line according to what Arcturus Black wanted was ludicrous. How would she ever continue to advance the field she was so clearly dedicated to (and, begrudgingly as he would admit it, gifted in) if she were too busy ensuring the keep of a home, too busy brewing potions and ascertaining her idiot of a husband didn’t get into a mess she was incapable of getting him out of? No, it didn’t make any sense. And that was without accounting for the mudblood mistress he’d have on the side; how Potter would deal with the shame of it was beyond him.

Additionally, Caelum hated Black and Black, in turn, hated him. All those discussions upon shaped imbueing, on the intricacies of Polyjuice and Wolfsbane, of brewing complex potions that require two competent brewers; it would all slip right through his fingers.

It could not be allowed to happen. Quite frankly, Black could not be allowed to trap Potter into a marriage, not when it would impact Caelum’s life so blatantly. He had grown accustomed to their talks, to their dinners and the rare opportunities where they could brew together. It would be a cold day in hell before Caelum allowed Black to rip away one of the things he enjoyed.

Yet, how could he prevent it? Potter was clearly engaged to wed the bastard and the only way out of it was-

The only way to get Potter out of that mess would be to break the contract in some manner. One way would be to have Black caught in a scandal- only, he knew Potter. Idiot that she was, she’d forgive him and they would get back to their lives. Lord Potter and Lord Black were the very best of friends; they’d never fall out over such a thing, though Caelum imagined that there would easily be tension between the two of them. So no, it couldn’t be Black seduced away. It would have to be Potter.

Potter whose only interest was the cauldron.

By Merlin, it was going to have to be him, wasn’t it? There would be no one else capable of it.

He would only have to keep the ruse going long enough for the bastard Black to get married. He could do that, Caelum thought with a frown. It would even be acceptable in light of the SOW Party’s recent marriage law (though, admittedly, the party had been remarkably quiet on introducing new legislation after that one went through). His parents wouldn’t be able to say a thing without risking the wrath of Lord Riddle. As the imposter had not been caught, Lord Riddle’s temper had yet to cool either, simmering away like a volcano just waiting for one shallow rumble to set it off. They had all learnt their lesson in regards to that; no one wanted to be the one to shake things up and end up facing the full front of that anger.

The only one that dared to upset the leader of the SOW Party was the boy that had helped ruin the final task by attempting to use the imposter in his ritual. The boy that had looked startlingly akin to Lord Riddle himself. Not that anyone breathed a word of that either. Not after what had happened to Burke. Poor fucker.

“I am going to seduce Harriet Potter away from Black,” Caelum declared to his empty room, the words crashing into the high ceiling but muffling upon the cushions and curtains before they could echo down to repeat his statement. Yes, it would have to happen. Potter was fifteen now, wasn’t she? Her fourth year was completed, it was the height of summer, wasn’t her birthday some day in July? Firing a glance to the calendar, Caelum eyed the date with a small smirk. A month to win Potter over? Easy.

True, she’d probably be getting ready to be one of the first halfbloods accepted back into Hogwarts, but that was hardly a problem for him. A month was more than enough time to cause further upset for Arcturus Black. And who knew, maybe the imposter carried a torch for Potter too; it wouldn’t surprise him, not with how the uppity little bastard had stood up for her back at that Gala.

One month; he could do it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I fell in love with Tamari's prompt of Caelum seducing Harry away from Rigel, but following on from Ch13 didn't feel like I could do a full story. And then we got talking and we're gonna try co-authoring this.
> 
> I don't know about Tamari, but the last time i co-authored I was 14 and writing an original with a friend and we had no plan, we just wrote. So, this could be interesting.


	2. Chapter 2

Caelum had spent an embarrassing amount of time reviewing the courtship chapter in _Etiquette for All Occasions._ Well, he’d never had to _pursue_ anyone before. He was the Lestrange Heir; he was the catch here. Courtship was simple enough, in theory. Ask Potter out to dinner, bring flowers, compliment her. He could do that — or at least best two out of three. His compliments tended to come out slightly backhanded.

He'd sent Potter a letter requesting her presence for dinner at La Serene. They’d been there before (where she’d exhibited a puzzling fluency in French, which was never explained to his satisfaction), but not for the dinner crowd. The elegant restaurant was the perfect dinner date location, with a candlelit ambiance and private booths. Candles signaled romance, right?

The privacy and discretion of the staff were positives as well. Even if courting a halfblood was bordering on acceptable with the new marriage law, he still preferred to put off involving his parents and the rumor mill as long as possible. 

Come evening, Caelum secluded himself in the back booth in his best robes. He swirled the fairy wine in his glass as he waited. Trust Potter to be late to their first date; she was probably finishing a batch of some potion and refused to use a stasis charm like the rest of the potioneering world. The pink roses he’d picked up for her at the Diagon Alley florist sat limply on the table, petals shining under the candlelight.

Maybe this had been a mistake, after all. He took a sip of the delicate wine, letting its taste linger on his tongue before vanishing. No, he reassured himself, it was the best way to achieve his goals. He was only anxious because he was still on step one: seduce Potter. Step two would be quick — it wouldn't take long for Black to propose to his American Mudblood, once it was clear that Potter wouldn't go through with the engagement. And step three would be worth it, as Caelum and Potter would spend the next years working their way through every high-level potion involving two brewers, without Black getting in the way. It was an effective plan. Foolproof. And he was no fool. 

Finally, Potter was shown to his table by the host. 

He’d heard that her Polyjuice had worn off (and that reminded him, he still needed to interrogate her about that ludicrous amber idea). She hadn't been present at the latest Ministry Gala, but Aldon Rosier had waxed eloquent about Potter's looks. He’d said she was no longer identical to the Rigel Black imposter, nor the real Arcturus Black. Caelum’s curiosity had been piqued, though he’d only rolled his eyes at Rosier. He'd assumed Rosier was biased by excessive fondness for the imposter and admiration for Potter's talent in Potions.

Now that Caelum was seeing Potter’s real face, set in a rueful smile as she apologized for being late… well. She wasn't unfortunate-looking. Not as beautiful as _Caelum,_ but who was?

Maybe it was for the best he’d decided to step in and steal her away from Black. Black had nothing on her when it came to intellect, and evidently, Potter was out of Black’s league in appearance as well. Her eyes glowed such a bright emerald green that they must have been magicked, set under bold eyebrows, her gaze like a Piercing Hex. There was something unrefined (but not unattractive) about the way her heart-shaped face was framed by that wild dark hair. Her lips were fuller than the more delicate look that pureblooded women favored — like a Muggle celebrity Caelum had caught glimpses of in his Durmstrang roommate’s smuggled magazines. Magazines he hadn't paid a lick of attention to beyond registering they existed, obviously. 

She was wearing light green robes instead of her usual shabby ensemble, although of course she’d paired them with the clunky brewing boots. If he ever lost her in a crowd, Caelum thought drolly, he’d just look for the boots and he’d know her instantly. Hardly what a respectable woman would wear to dinner, but he supposed her practicality towards potions could count as part of her charm. 

“Not you, too,” Potter sighed. “I thought surely after that _Witch Weekly_ article came out and everyone knew what we looked like, people would stop staring at me.”

“I wasn’t _staring,_ ” Caelum snapped, before reining in his tone to neutral. _Etiquette for All Occasions_ hadn’t specified, but he had a feeling that you weren’t supposed to snap at the girl you were trying to seduce. “I was merely observing. I don't read that rag."

Potter’s mouth twitched into a half-smile. “Are you finished observing?”

He huffed. "Sit down, Potter. Have some wine."

"I'm not seventeen _quite_ yet," she said, but poured a tiny amount into her glass anyway. "You should call the waiter, whoever just left forgot their flowers."

 _What?_ Oh, for the love of — 

"Those are for you.”

Potter's nonplussed expression wasn't exactly flattering. Didn't think he was capable of a nice courting gesture, huh? He'd show her. He could be chivalrous. If he wanted to be.

Understanding finally dawned on her face as she delicately sipped her wine. "Oh! Right, thanks, I've been meaning to try out that new recipe for Wound Healing Salve that was published in Trinity Compendium last month. But I could have sworn it called for rose hips, not fully flowered roses. It's an easy mistake to make."

Caelum spluttered. How dare she sit there, with a polite smile, and insinuate he didn’t know the difference between rose hips and roses? The insult! But there was no easy way to correct her, not without seeming foolish or outright spelling out the flowers’ purpose, which he flatly refused to do.

“Don’t brew with them, then,” he said, disgruntlement coming through in his voice.

There was an uncomfortable silence. Caelum resisted the urge to roll his eyes. How could anyone get to adolescence and remain so oblivious? True to form, Potter soldiered through the discomfort, greeting their waiter and ordering in French. _Again._ It didn’t sound like the same order from the last time they’d dined at La Serene. She hadn’t memorized her favorites like Caelum had. He scowled at the waiter’s retreating back, thinking of Potter's flimsy ‘taught by a house-elf’ excuse for her fluency in the foreign language. 

Except… wasn’t the imposter Black supposed to be from the continent? Had he been French? It made a horrifying sort of sense. The imposter had taught Potter — no wonder she hadn’t been willing to say how she really learned.

Potter pursed her lips. "You know, Lestrange, you're the first person I've spoken to this summer who hasn't immediately grilled me about Rigel's whereabouts.”

“I fear for the taste of your acquaintances, if they’d prefer to speak of that con artist than true groundbreaking achievements in Potions.”

Potter's expression faltered. She didn’t blush, didn’t bat her lashes or smile coyly; instead, her face went eerily blank. It took her a long moment to collect herself. “Speaking of. How has your Shaped Imbuing come along?” 

His eyebrows drew together. “Very well. I wrote to you, remember?”

She blinked and shook her head. “I guess I’d forgotten. Sorry. There was a lot going on.”

“By which you mean, the blood theft escapades? I’m surprised at you, Potter. I never thought anything would distract you from Potions. They could be carting you to Azkaban, and you’d bring along a cauldron for the ride,” Caelum said dryly. 

Potter looked stricken.

Mentally, he was kicking himself. He’d never seen her so somber — usually she was all teasing comebacks and sly wordplay, which should have translated neatly to flirting. Yet somehow, he’d made it worse. Flowers failed, compliments failed, jokes failed. What the fuck would it take to get Potter to embrace the date atmosphere?

Her face brightened marginally when the waiter brought them a plate of oysters as an appetizer. If feeding her was all it took, it’d make his ruse less of a daunting prospect. 

“So, what sort of project were you thinking you might choose for your final Mastery thesis?” Potter asked, steering the conversation back into familiar waters.

“I’ve been considering several ideas. It ought to be something that reshapes the future of the Potions community forever.”

“Is that all?” she said, popping an oyster into her mouth.

“But it also needs to be marketable," he mused. "Either something that appeals to the masses, or something that’s so unique in its niche that I could charge whatever I pleased and people would pay through the nose for the honor." 

Master Whitaker paid for ingredients during the apprenticeship, but as soon as Caelum took his Mastery exam, he’d be on his own. If he ever wanted to stop being dependent on the whims of his parents for income, he needed an impressive Mastery Thesis.

Other than the summer internship, which he’d spent researching improvements to an existing Potion (which was the advertised _point_ of the internship, it wasn’t his fault that Potter refused to accept the status quo), this thesis would be the community’s first impression of his talent. It had to be sheer genius. It had to leave all his competitors in the dust. He’d never say it aloud, but he was secretly relieved that Potter was years away from her Mastery. Less competition. It also helped that Potter was so infuriatingly ethical. He could keep their Potions partnership without worrying she’d sell his ideas out from under him.

“I know you’ll figure something out. Something grand.” Potter smiled, full and bright, and her whole face transformed.

Caelum took a gulp of wine, hiding his own expression, which might have exposed the disquieting lurch in his stomach. “Of course I will.”

They talked about Potions through the evening, through the entrees. Potter was a good sounding board. She never held back a scoff when she thought a theory was ludicrous. But when Caelum hit upon an idea she _did_ like, her eyes lit up like stars, and she was off, with passionate gestures and thoughtful explanations. The depth of her arguments wouldn’t be out of place in the pages of _Potions Quarterly,_ her knowledge of ingredient interactions and theories damn near encyclopedic. Even Master Whitaker was known to consult a glossary if he hadn’t recently studied a potion. But Caelum had yet to see Potter stumped. Even in her “worst” subject, Love Potions (and wasn’t that ironic), Potter had enough knowledge to keep up with him.

That was the whole point of his scheme, Caelum reminded himself over dessert and the second bottle of wine. (He hadn’t really consumed any, but Potter had ended up drinking one and a half glasses, and had started looking a little dreamy.) Potter was a half-blood, and a brat most of the time, but she was the only person he’d ever met who lived and breathed Potions like he did. She deserved better than a mind-numbing marriage to Arcturus Black.

“Thanks for inviting me for dinner tonight, Lestrange,” Potter said abruptly. “I needed a break. With everything.. I had forgotten how nice it is just to sit and talk about Potions with a friend.” She pushed a lock of hair behind her ear.

It was then that Caelum realized it. Potter didn't know that they were supposed to be on a date. Even though they were at a fancy restaurant, in the evening, and he'd brought fucking flowers. How could she not know? In his month-long timeline, he hadn’t calculated on sheer willful obliviousness. 

“Don’t mention it,” he said, but he said it through gritted teeth.

* * *

Caelum arrived home with a sour expression and no idea how to proceed.

Clearly, paging through copies of _Etiquette for All Occasions_ wasn’t going to cut it. In his study, he flipped back to the beginning and scoffed at the date — this was the latest edition from 1879. How was that supposed to help him woo Potter, the epitome of the modern woman?

If he wanted to have any chance of accomplishing his goals, he needed to put his vaunted research abilities to work. The Lestrange library was hopelessly out of date. So, fine. He would move toward more direct research, like he had when he’d asked Potter to interview her werewolf uncle. Now, the question became… who could he ask who would have the most knowledge of the issue in question?

Caelum sat back in his desk chair with an annoyed sigh. The pool was slim. He wasn’t on owling terms with any of his Durmstrang classmates, except Schulze, whose single attempt at flirting with the Morozov Heiress had gone so poorly that she’d never spoken to him again. Caelum knew plenty of wizards in Britain by virtue of his blood and his name, although not many who’d he deign to speak to outside of a required social setting. Perhaps Edmund Rookwood... Caelum wasn’t especially close to his godfather, but they corresponded on occasion, and the Rookwoods came to dinner a few times a year. The younger Rookwood was engaged to marry Alesana Selwyn, a cold beauty from one of the oldest pureblood lines. It hadn’t even been arranged; the gossip said it was a _love match_ (ugh). So surely Edmund Rookwood knew a thing or two about romance.

But then again, Caelum thought, Rookwood wouldn’t be a good source for information. The other Heir had made it clear that he didn’t approve of Caelum’s “attitude” toward his little friend, Rigel Black, at the Rosier gala or since. Caelum didn’t trust Rookwood. And trust was key when gathering information — research became worthless if the source wasn’t impeccable.

Impeccable source… well, Caelum knew someone like that.

 _Dear Regulus,_ Caelum wrote, and added in the expected perfunctory pleasantries before getting to his point.

_As an Heir who was educated out of the country, I must admit I am not familiar with traditional practices among those my age in Society. Should one wish to take a young lady out — not as a formal family-sanctioned courting event, but with the intended result of establishing an indisputably intimate atmosphere — is there a specific locale that would be customary?_

_Your cousin,_

_C. Lestrange_

When the reply arrived, most of the letter was spent responding to the useless small talk earlier in Caelum’s letter. Regulus had only addressed the courting question in the last paragraph, words dripping with amusement at Caelum’s expense.

 _Traditional practices would not encourage establishing an “intimate atmosphere” before an official betrothal, however frequently it may occur among your peers in the Hogwarts set. Should I assume you are asking for a_ private _venue? As a responsible family member, I am afraid I cannot recommend any suitable locations. Should you wish to spare the lady’s reputation and still demonstrate your romantic intent clearly, I would point you toward Madam Puddifoot’s, a tearoom in Hogsmeade, just outside Hogwarts. It is a favorite among the young pureblood ladies who attend Hogwarts when they wish to display their various suitors._

_Your cousin,_

_Regulus._

_P.S. Consult chapter five in A Wizard’s Guide to Continuing the Line. Read it. Believe it. Practice the spells._

Caelum’s cheeks were burning by the time he reached Regulus’s post-script. _Please!_ That was _not_ the goal of the seduction scheme. At all. The ruse was aimed solely toward ensuring his future Potions goals and Potter’s continued role in experimentation and innovation. Any other preposterous ideas hadn’t crossed his mind. Not even once. 

Well, fuck. _Now_ they had. 

But that wasn’t his fault! It was like being told not to think of a pink Puffskein. It meant nothing.

* * *

The next letter Caelum sent out was to Potter, who agreed to go out to the wizarding village of Hogsmeade for an afternoon tea. If she was surprised to be invited out again only a few days after they’d gone to La Serene, she didn’t express it in writing. 

Potter met him outside the tearoom Regulus had suggested. She’d traded her clunky brewing boots for … more clunky brewing boots, except these were a delicate shade of lilac. That was somehow worse.

“Have you seen the sale at the apothecary in town?” she said as a greeting, as he opened the door to the tearoom for her. 

He started to answer. His mind went blank. The door shut behind them, the bells on the door ringing out a high-pitched tune, one he recognized as the same melody traditionally played at Wizarding weddings.

“Table for two?” asked an older woman in a frilly pink apron, presumably Madam Puddifoot. “Lovely, come this way!” 

Caelum was sure he hadn’t said anything or nodded or indicated in any way they wanted a table. His eyes were still smarting from the sheer amount of _pink_ and _glitter_ assaulting his senses _._ Somehow, he found himself sitting down on a wrought iron chair by the window. The round tables were so tiny that he could feel Potter’s knees brushing against his from across the table. Intimate, indeed.

They stared at each other. Potter’s expression was dazed; his was probably worse. Even as he looked at her, flutters of pink and blue glitter drifted off the enchanted birds and landed in her hair, glinting against the blackness. She opened her mouth to say something and promptly closed it again. She looked down at the menu instead. 

Caelum’s eyes went to his own ruffly menu, but he wasn’t taking in any of the words printed in curlicue font. Sparkly hearts twirled in circles over the listings for herbal teas. _Madam Puddifoot’s, a favorite among the young pureblood ladies,_ huh? Caelum could just imagine Regulus snorting to himself as he'd penned his reply letter. Who could have seen it coming: Regulus, a prankster? He was Sirius Black’s brother, after all. Or maybe Regulus had been in earnest, and most ladies really did like this… frippery. Caelum hadn’t read between the lines. He’d known Potter’s interests did not align with the strict gendered expectations of Dark Pureblood Society any more than his own did.

On the plus side, one could not argue a romantic atmosphere hadn't been established. There were no less than 5 different couples snogging passionately at other tables. There was glitter in Potter’s hair. On the minus side, _everything else._

"Is the coffee good here?" Potter ventured from across the table.

“I don’t know,” Caelum managed, between gritted teeth. “I haven’t been before.”

She raised an eyebrow quizzically. As well she might, since he'd been the one to propose they come here. Oh, Merlin, what she must think of him? 

“My cousin suggested it,” he said quickly.

Potter’s other eyebrow rose too. “Draco suggested this.”

Caelum stored away the knowledge that Potter was on a first-name basis with the Malfoy Heir for later. “Not Malfoy.” He waved a hand. “Regulus Black.”

Potter leaned forward, elbows on the table, and grinned wickedly. “Oh, of course. That makes _so_ much more sense. Why, I should have guessed this was Regulus’s favorite place to take tea. I wonder if he and Riddle have a tab, for when they spend their afternoons crafting propaganda pamphlets. It’s the glitter that makes you look twice!"

Caelum choked on a laugh despite himself. During the time he’d known her, Potter had only become more irreverent, her words more biting.. She’d even omitted Lord Riddle’s title. He should have been offended on behalf of his cousin, but he wasn’t. At least she was smiling. Whatever had weighed so heavily on her during their dinner in Diagon Alley, it felt lighter today. Had she always been funny? Had he been too annoyed to notice it, before?

She was still laughing when a buxom waitress shimmied through the crowded room up to their table. He noticed the waitress noticing him, her heavily lined eyes dipping to his expensive robes and back up. _Perfect_. A little jealousy, a little competition? If Potter needed the push, he’d provide.

He smiled at the waitress with all the charm he could muster. “Two teas, love.”

The pretty waitress winked as she weaved her way back to the counter. Caelum watched her go with too-blatant admiration. When he turned back to Potter, she was frowning. Success!

“It’s rude to order for someone else, Caelum. What if I wanted coffee?”

Or not. He sighed peevishly. “Then order coffee when the waitress comes back. Buying two beverages is hardly an imposition on my pocketbook.” 

That wasn’t precisely true, Caelum knew, his moneybag dangerously light after his latest apothecary purchase. But it was not classy to make one’s date pay, or to act miserly about their selections. _Etiquette for All Occasions_ was clear on that topic.

“Is this your treat, then?” Potter grinned. 

Maybe Potter wasn’t as well-versed in date etiquette as Caelum. She _was_ a half-blood, for all that she respected social norms one iota more than he did. “Why not?” 

She propped her chin up with her palm. “That’s a first. What have I done to deserve such an honor?”

“I’m feeling magnanimous today.”

They lapsed into silence. Caelum snuck glances out the window at the passerby. Most of them were uninteresting village folk, but it was better than watching strangers snog less than 2 metres away. When he returned his attention to his date, she was also staring out at the Hogsmeade streets, a wistful expression drifting across her new features. It was, admittedly, a pretty look for her.

He wondered if she’d ever longed to go to Hogwarts. She never could, as a half-blood, but she loved Potions. Surely she’d dreamed of learning from Master Snape just as the Rigel Black Imposter had. Nobody had a better grasp of Wolfsbane than Master Snape. As much as he hated to admit it, Potter had been right to call him out at the gala they’d both attended. Wild half-blood ideas _did_ have their place in Potions, and Master Snape had proved it before Potter had even been born.

The clatter of drinks on their table jerked him out of his thoughts, and Potter out of hers. She hadn’t noticed his excessive staring, thankfully. He brought back his most charismatic smile as he thanked the pretty waitress.

Potter took a sip of her tea. Her eyes darted between him and the waitress, who was sashaying back to the counter. _Finally_. He’d hate for all this painful smiling to be for nothing.

Potter leaned across the table into Caelum’s personal space. She smelled like cauldron cleaner and chamomile, and her green eyes were even brighter up close. She put a hand to her mouth and whispered in the most conspicuous manner possible. “You should make a move!”

He blinked at her, speechless.

“Come on, Caelum, I know you haven’t dated before, but you’re clearly interested in her.” Potter inclined her head back towards the counter. “Ask her out. What’s the worst that can happen?”

“You are impossible,” was all he could manage in response.

“Yeah, yeah, but are you going to do it? She’s coming back. Pretend I’m not here.” She lifted her drink to cover her face and looked pointedly out the window.

“No, Potter—” 

“Hi! Can I get you anything else?” The waitress winked at him. _Winked._ Trying to make Potter jealous may have been the worst idea he’d ever had.

His face went hot. “The bill,” he said quickly, avoiding eye contact as the waitress dropped the check and left.

Potter heaved a dramatic sigh. “How are we ever going to find you a nice girl to be Lady Lestrange, if you act like this with everyone you’re interested in?”

“I _don’t_ ,” Caelum spluttered. He could feel his face burning even hotter. 

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Potter replied, sounding unimpressed, and there was nothing he could say to that. 

Caelum paid the bill, as he’d said he would, and held the door open for Potter on their way out. Of course it made zero impression on Potter. No more restaurants, he resolved. He’d determined that crowded rooms with waitstaff and other customers and overpriced food were not conducive romantic environments. 

If this “Madam Puddifoot’s” couldn’t crack her, what the hell was left? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like Tsume, I have not experimented with co-writing since middle school, but I'm so excited to be working on this project, and hope you all forgive me for the wait on this segment!  
> <3, Tamari


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